Demeanor
by cyko1003
Summary: [DannyLindsay OneShot] Both try to drop hints, unsure of what the other is feeling.


**Disclaimer: **They're not mine, just borrowing, the usual.

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**Demeanor**

She looks at him across the lab, though 'staring' is probably a more appropriate word. She turns away quickly when he looks back at her - she hopes he doesn't notice. She chances a brief glance back to find him still gazing at her. She returns an awkward smile and occupies herself with a print. It takes all of her self-control not to look back, wondering if his eyes are still on her. Subconsciously, she wants them to be.

He smiles when he realizes she's been watching him. He can't help but look - pretty girls catch his attention, and she happens to be one of the better ones. But knowing her beyond just her physical appearance makes him appreciate more than just her outward good looks, though he can't quite figure out what it is specifically that draws him in. He finds he likes listening to her stories, thoughts, random mind tangents. He likes the smile she always gives when he surprises her with coffee. He smirks.

The case she's working on begins to wear on her nerves, on her composure. She hates these sorts of cases, where there seems to be no rhyme or reason to the crime. She glances at her watch, silently wishing for time to stop, halting the arrival of the end of her shift. Nights like this she doesn't like being alone.

The sound of footsteps behind her pulls her from her thoughts. She glances up with a sheepish smile as he walks up to her. She mentions her shift is almost done, but casually adds that there's still a lot to do. She wants to say that she doesn't want to go back to the solitude of her apartment, but doesn't want to use so many words. She likes being around people... around him. She sighs, muttering something about not being tired, about her apartment being boring. It's her way of asking him to stay with her.

He offers his company at a bar nearby, telling her the relaxing atmosphere might help calm her down a bit. She smiles. She wants to say yes, but instead politely declines, not wanting to seem like a bother. She's secretly hoping, though, that he'll insist and talk her into it. She's afraid that accepting immediately will make her seem needy, clingy. She knows she is fishing for an invitation, but part of her feels like he is just offering it out of obligation. She knows if he asks if she's sure about not going then obligation was the case, but he doesn't. Instead, he tells her that he won't take no for an answer. She forces her smile not to turn into the giddy grin she's trying so hard to suppress. A small part of her hopes that it really isn't obligation. She doesn't know he's thrilled about the opportunity. But he'll never admit that.

He smoothly delivers all the proper gentlemanly gestures - helping her with her coat, holding the door for her. He leads her by placing his hand on the small of her back, opting to walk instead of attempting a New York cab. He knows this case got to her. He wants to ask her about it, to be there for her, but doesn't want to pry. He knows she doesn't like to show weakness, vulnerability. Instead, he just walks beside her. She moves over to the inside of the sidewalk, hips swaying lightly beside him. He buries his hands in his pockets, making small-talk, distracting her by talking about anything except work, about the case. He opens the door to the bar for her, leading her inside. After finding seats, he asks her what she'd like, then strolls to the bar to order their drinks. He pays.

When he comes back, she leans into the table. She's been choosing her outfits carefully recently, picking ones that are subtly sexy yet still appropriate for work. The careful assembly of herself every morning is her secretly deliberate attempt to impress him, to get his attention. She allows one hand to rest freely, openly, on the table. She knows he'll never act on this hint - he's unlikely to even pick up on it - but she leaves it there anyway. She keeps her eyes on him, smiling at his stories, laughing at his jokes. She's surprised that she doesn't have to pretend; everything comes naturally.

He eyes the way she sips on her drink, the way she lights up when she smiles. He marvels at the way she always seems to have this perfect look about her - he'll never understand everything women do to prepare. His morning routine involves simply showering, shaving, and getting dressed. He knows she must spend forever each morning putting herself together, but he can't understand how she accomplishes this seemingly effortless perfection. There was little doubt that she'd still look beautiful even if she came straight to work immediately after rolling out of bed. The soft bump of her shoe against his leg brings him back to reality. He dismisses it and takes a swig of his drink.

She had shifted her legs on purpose, knowing she'd likely knock hers against his. She finds herself struggling not to laugh - was she seriously playing footsies with him? She feels like she's twelve all over again. She bravely composes herself and sits up straight, throwing a casual yet seductive grin in his direction. She draws a breath as she watches him lick his drink off his lips. She looks down and adjusts her shirt, calling attention to herself. His eyes follow.

He awkwardly takes another drink as he watches her movements. Trying to distract his wandering thoughts, he repositions his body, leaning back casually in his booth. He moves one arm up, allowing it to drape over the frame. This was normally his game - he couldn't understand why she made him feel so out of his zone, of his element, when it was exactly the situation he normally was a pro at.

She forces herself to keep her composure as she allows her eyes to wander over his outstretched arm. She pictures herself sitting beside him, his arm behind her, a subtle indication that she is his. She tells him she'll return shortly, feeling his eyes on her, taking her in, as she walks casually to the ladies' room. She sways slightly more than normal, basking in the certainty that he's watching her as she leaves. She stifles the urge to glance back at him.

He takes the opportunity to examine her without her noticing; he doesn't know this is her intention. He draws a breath as she disappears around the corner. He tries to distract himself by focusing on something – anything - in the bar, but all he can think of is her. He signals the bartender for another round. He pays again. It's his way of giving something to her. Normally, this is how he wins over his dates. This time, though, he has no intention of winning her over. He just wants to be there for her, to be her friend. To be more than her friend.

She arrives at the same time as the fresh round. Thanking him sweetly, she jokingly asks if he's trying to get her drunk. He half-jokingly tells her that normally it would be the case, but tonight he's just having fun. He's not lying. She blushes.

He wonders if he's boring her as begins to drabble on about the sports world; he is caught off-guard when she's able to respond. She notices his reaction and laughs, telling him that sports are popular in the country - everyone roots for their local team. Getting engrossed in the atmosphere is simply inevitable. They continue talking, and after finishing a third round, they leave. Again, he holds the door. She brushes his chest as she exits.

She wonders where they're headed, but trusts him to lead the way. She slows her pace, allowing more time together. Again, she walks on the inside, her purse draped over the shoulder opposite him. She lets her arm dangle absently at her side, her hand brushing his accidentally-on-purpose. It's her way of signalling that she'd like for him to take it, that way it's him making the move, not her. He misses her hint.

He enjoys walking so close to her, their shoulders and hands bumping and brushing. He's not paying attention to where they're going, but trusts that she knows her way. He wants to take her hand in his, but he's not sure she wants it. He doesn't want to make her uncomfortable. Their hands bump again, but he doesn't respond by putting his hands in his pockets. He likes having an excuse to have innocent contact with her. Bump.

She shares stories about cases she worked in Montana, about how much they differed from cases she'd been working in New York. He's intrigued by her recounts. He tells her he admires how smoothly she made the transition between the two starkly different worlds. She shrugs. She wants to tell him that even though he was a brat when they first met, his friendship helped make the transition that much easier. She bites her tongue.

They walk in silence for awhile. He steals glances down at her, once, twice, marvelling at how the moonlight bounces beautifully, perfectly, off her face. The night sky illuminates her. He wants to tell her as much. He bites his tongue.

They reach the harbour, not realizing that neither had led the way there. They both look at each other expectantly, wondering what ulterior motives lie beneath the surface. For a moment, she gets lost in his eyes, staring so intently at her, threatening her knees to buckle. She forces herself to break the contact, suddenly unsure of herself, of him. She walks to a nearby bench and sits.

He isn't sure what just happened, what that moment was, but he had found himself caught up in it. In fact, had she not walked away, he might have even leaned in, succumbing to the physical urges that wanted, ached, to know just a little bit more of her. He closes his eyes and licks his lips as she sits down. He follows, sitting closely beside her, their thighs lightly touching. Regaining his smooth attitude, he rests his arm on the back of the bench, just enough to lightly graze her, to be secretly intimate while coming off as casual.

They sit in silence, staring at the boats in the marina. She notices his arm behind her, and is comforted by it. She enjoys the feeling of security it brings, however unintentional. She squashes the urge to snuggle into him. Slowly, though, she knows her resistance is slowly wavering. Again, she tries to get him to make a move - she shivers slightly. He notices.

He asks her if she's cold. She shrugs, a smile hidden in her face. He shuffles closer slightly, pulling her into him. It's how he offers warmth. She doesn't seem to feel cold, but he likes having her close anyway. He rests his other hand on her leg. The silence continues, but this time, it's thick with anticipation.

She closes her eyes, getting lost in his smell. His cologne is seductive, his body firm, his hand reassuring. She likes it here, wrapped up in him. A breeze flutters by her face; she presses herself lightly into his chest.

He closes his eyes as the scent of her shampoo wafts around him. His lips tingle; he tries to lick away the sensation. It doesn't work. He struggles to understand how he seems to lose control around her, but instead finds he enjoys not knowing, not understanding. She always leaves him wanting more. He does want more. Without thinking about the consequences, he places a soft kiss in her hair.

She feels it. She looks up at him, as though not believing what just happened. She can tell from his face that he's looking for the reassurance that his small advance was welcomed, wanted. It was, is. Her eyes wander from his eyes to his lips, how inviting they look. She knows his eyes are on her lips too - she rubs them together, nervous. Her heart speeds up as his hand on her leg tenses ever-so-slightly. He leans in.

His lips touch hers, and the world around him evaporates. He knows only her, feels only her. Instinct takes over as she responds to his touch. She intoxicates him.

Her world spins. Dreams, thoughts, fantasies - none do him justice, do this justice. Heat shoots through her body, right down to her toes, each electric movement igniting her senses. She is aware of only him. Even the bench they sit on disappears.

A smile crosses her face as comprehension sets in. He looks down at her, his trademark boyish grin slapped on his face. She says nothing, only smiles wider. She turns back to the marina, her fingers interlacing his. Words aren't needed, hints aren't required, thoughts aren't necessary. Their smiles say it all.

They sit together under the star-spotted sky in the common knowledge that all outstanding questions have been answered.


End file.
